An Unfinished Man
by jjthomas
Summary: Ordinary moments in the lives of Bashir and Garak. A drabble series. Contains some G/B.
1. A Present

Julian took the sleeve of the tunic in hand. The fabric was enticingly soft. He reached out and took hold of the other, judging the fit.

"You like it?" Garak asked.

"Yes. Yes, I do," the doctor admitted immediately.

"Then it's yours."

Julian shot a glance over his shoulder. "I couldn't possibly-"

"I insist."

He paused, considering. Then he turned his attention back to the garment. The color and style were most appealing. For a split second, he imagined himself wearing it. "It almost looks as if it were made for me."

"My dear doctor," Garak replied wistfully. "It _was_."


	2. These Queens

Garak placed his hand down on top of the doctor's, preventing him from withdrawing. "A risky move," he commented, intrigued by Bashir's choice.

"So you _have _played this game before."

"Once or twice," he replied nonchalantly.

Bashir grinned. "Tinker, tailor, grand master, spy?"

"Hardly."

"A lie?"

This time it was Garak who grinned, that familiar glint in his eye. "I would _never _lie to you, my dear doctor."

"You're lying right now."

"Am I?" he asked innocently.

"You are."

"I do so enjoy our games. Truly, I do." He removed his hand.

"I'll have your queen in three moves."

"Doubtful."


	3. Picking Up The Pieces

Medical supplies and diagnostic tools littered the floor, some damaged beyond repair. In the middle of it all, Dr. Bashir waded through the destruction with care, taking inventory and returning unbroken items to their proper locations.

Garak appeared at the entryway in a hurry and stopped short, taking in the chaos.

"News travels fast," Bashir announced, looking up.

"This is _quite_ an impressive mess." It was then that he noticed blood on the CMO's palm. "Are you all right, Doctor?"

Bashir dismissed the injury. "Better than my infirmary," he reassured his friend.

Garak reached out to lend a helping hand.


	4. Breakfast

Early morning on the station looked remarkably like any other time of the day, set apart only by the number of people present on the Promenade. To Garak's surprise, as he made his way to his shop, he spied Dr. Bashir exiting the infirmary. A grin crossed his face as he observed the doctor try and stifle a yawn and fail. Garak altered his course so that they would cross paths.

"Good morning, doctor!" The greeting was exceedingly cheerful.

"Good morning, Garak." Another stifled yawn.

"It doesn't appear you'll be up for lunch today. Breakfast?"

"Yes. That would be lovely."


	5. Late

"You're up late, doctor," Garak observed.

Bashir gestured to the display above his desk. "I'm working on a little problem."

"I don't suppose there's any way I could be of assistance," he offered.

The doctor smiled, knowingly. "Do you happen to have a degree in parasitology?"

"I can't say that I do."

"Neither do I, unfortunately."

"Perhaps if you slept on it-" Garak began.

"-the answer might come to me?" Bashir finished.

"There is some truth to it. A well rested mind is better suited to address complex issues."

"Then I'd be wise to take your advice."

"An excellent decision."


	6. So Few Words

Surviving solitary was easier than watching his friend suffer. With the Breen still presumably asleep and Martok and Worf absent again, Bashir seized the opportunity to communicate privately the sympathy he never had the chance to impart.

"Garak." His tone of voice was identical to before.

The Cardassian turned on him, anger flashing on his face for only half a second. "Don't, doctor," he ordered.

Bashir instantly drew back.

Garak breathed in and let it out slowly, his features softening. He then seated himself on the cot next to Bashir, so close their shoulders touched.

No more words were necessary.


	7. Tea

Perhaps it was wishful thinking that compelled him to order Tarkalean Tea that morning. Perhaps it was the desire to be reminded of a long absent friend. Garak had never truly cared for the beverage himself. The association however was strong. On occasion, he would allow himself the luxury of believing his companion had simply been delayed, that some emergency had arisen. The truth was the two hadn't shared a meal in years. Time and distance separated them. As the blazing sun rose over the horizon of Cardassia, Garak sipped his sweet tea and fabricated lies too bitter to digest.


	8. Tea For Two

A pair of hands gently descended upon Garak's shoulders from behind. He immediately tensed. It had been months since anyone had touched him and one did not do so without permission. It was then, with a cup of Tarkalean Tea in his hands, that the irony hit him. Had he not initially approached his long absent friend in the same manner?

Wordlessly, the individual behind him reached around and took the cup from the saucer.

Could it be?

Elation overcame Garak and the tension in his shoulders fled. Without turning, he offered an invitation.

"My dear doctor. _Do_ join me."


	9. Telltale Signs

"You must be looking forward to visiting your parents on such a momentous occasion," Garak commented as he watched the doctor pack. Bashir would be present to witness his father's release.

He hesitated over the open case for several seconds, an extra uniform tunic in his hand. Without raising his gaze, he carelessly deposited it on top of other meticulously stowed belongings. Then he shifted slightly, turning more of his back to Garak, and obstructing the expression on his face from view.

"I am, actually," he finally replied, his voice decidedly even.

Garak knew a lie when he saw one.


	10. Unraveled

Expert hands crafted a masterpiece of silk lace one loop at a time, a laborious but thoroughly satisfying process. Confidence was a garment Garak wore with ease.

The surgeon approached his own masterpiece with equal confidence. Outstretched fingers played at the nap of the neck, gliding through hair as luxurious as the silk. They then slid down along the ridge to the curve of the shoulder. His touch blossomed into pressure at just the right juncture.

The master craftsman unintentionally dropped a stitch.

When the project finally fell to the floor forgotten, it was plain, simple Garak who came unraveled.


	11. At The Seams

(A/N: A sequel to "Come Undone" by Misereremolly.)

There were no more bolts of exotic fabrics. The dressing room curtains were gone. The displays had been removed. The expansive table on which Garak had executed his trade was nowhere to be found. The tailoring shop was well and truly vacated.

Days had passed. Why then did it seem like an eternity? Julian stood in the middle of the space, in the midst of emptiness. All the things he's come to expect from Garak were missing. It was only when he dropped his gaze in loneliness did he see it.

A single strand of silk lay at his feet.


	12. Warm

No alarm. No obligations. No duties to call him away. It was a blissfully quiet moment. He floated in that hazy space between sleep and awareness, reveling in the warmth that surrounded him. A bare chest pressed against his back. A hand rested possessively on his hip. The sound of even breathing reached his ear. Contentedly, he listened to the steady and reassuring rhythm. Not once did he feel compelled to open his heavy eyelids. His only desire was to remain in stillness, ensconced in his lover's embrace. Silence sung its sweet lullaby. Darkness called. He willingly succumbed once more.


	13. Red

Garak floated freely in the damaged cockpit of the runabout. He recognized the sensations of zero gravity immediately. All sense of direction had been obliterated and weightlessness had toppled him head over heels. He cracked his eyelids and struggled to place the sight before him through the red hued haze that surrounded him. Smoke was wafting up into his face from the console beneath the navigation station. Waving his hand to clear his vision was a slow and over exaggerated motion. It had little effect. Something wet collided with his palm. He looked down and discovered blood that wasn't his.


	14. An Understanding

"I understand why you did it." Solemn acceptance was tainted with regret.

A derisive snort was the reply. "I find that rather hard to believe, Doctor. You think you know me so well. You think that you can _trust _me."

"I _can_ trust you. To be true to your own set of values. From a Cardassian point of view, it was the _only _decision you could have made. I don't agree with it but I _do _understand." The distinction was imperative.

"Perhaps then we'll have to engage in a truly human response."

A quizzical expression formed.

"We'll agree to disagree."


	15. Solidarity

Julian winced and shied away.

"Really, doctor," Garak sighed as he tended to Bashir's bleeding temple. "If you'd stop moving about, this would be a great deal easier."

"Stop pressing so hard," Julian ordered bitterly.

"My. Aren't we cheery?" The words dripped with sarcasm.

"Are you sure the dermal regenerator is destroyed?"

"Beyond repair, I'm afraid. Along with the rest of the medkit."

Julian groaned with frustration.

"You're a far better doctor than you are a patient. Your nurses agree, by the way."

"Since when do you chat with my nurses?"

"Since we discovered we had a problem in common."


	16. Savor

(A/N: Post "Improbable Cause".)

Delavian Chocolates and affectionate smiles. It wasn't until long after they were exchanged outside the airlock that Julian realized the truth. It hadn't been a joke at all.

The bulkhead beside the replicator in Garak's quarters did in fact have a false panel. Within the concealed compartment, he found the isolinear rod. For a moment, he could do nothing but stare in amazement. What secrets had Garak left behind? Did he trust himself to view them?

The file extension bewildered him. It held a replicator pattern. Scones materialized, a single note accompanying the meal.

"Don't just eat, doctor. Truly savor."


	17. An Ending

There are no more tomorrows to be shared, no more stories to be spun, no more lies to be told. Between them is a deathly silence. One lies near the end of his life. The other waits patiently for the inevitable, guarding and watching his frail friend. Soon, he will be alone. It's a realization he's not yet ready to accept. This has allowed him the fortitude necessary to remain. But how could he possibly be anywhere else? With a limp hand resting in his own, he observes the rise and fall of the last breath.

One dead. One broken.


	18. Disguise

Garak did a double take. He was sure he'd never met the Cardassian now approaching him from across the Promenade yet something about the new arrival was disturbingly familiar. The clues were present. He had only to observe. The revelation came a moment later. He greeted his friend with a smile of pure amusement.

"You knew it was me," Bashir deduced upon arrival, sounding slightly disappointed.

"If you want to truly change your identity, you'll have to do more than just chance your outward appearance."

"What gave me away?"

"Many things. Most especially your eyes. Compassion is hard to disguise."


End file.
